Winterfell's Daughter Returns
by LilFeather
Summary: A sequel to A Man of Honor, detailing the events of the epilogue. Ned realized in Winterfell that the Hound had no love for Joff, and is actually a man of integrity. After Robert proposes marriage between Sansa and Joff, Ned asks Sandor to vow to protect Sansa while in KL. Realizing she will die if she stays, Sandor attempts to return her to Winterfell. Thank you for reading :D
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I was diagnosed with Cognitive impairment (PCCI) which has made writing very hard over the past two months. Please be patient with me and this story. I've tried to avoid mentioning it but I wanted to explain the reason for any potential mistakes and canon issues. At times I may need to do some editing. I do have a beta but what I think and what I actually type are at odds lol. Writing actually helps regain some of my memory and I am receiving therapy for it so I will push forward. I would ask that you please let me know if you find errors and I will correct them. Thank you for understanding and helping make this story better.

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**Chapter 1 The Man of Honor Keeps His Vow to Lord Eddard**

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In her room alight with wildfire, Sandor stared into Sansa's lovely face and wondered if he was dreaming. For a moment he believed he died on the battlefield and somehow managed to make it to the Seven heavens.

Later on, after the wine cleared from his head, he knew that was not possible: Sandor does not believe such places exist. Even if it did, it sure as hell would never admit the likes of him. His heart raced as she tenderly caressed his face and whispered her sweet words: _"I want nothing more than to be with you, my love, and to spend my life loving you. Of course I will go with you! Though I do not wish to be alienated from my family I have made my choice-I only want to be with you. I will follow you wherever you go."_

Sansa, his beautiful little bird, promised she would love _him_-Sandor Clegane, the scarred Hound-forever. He could hard believe his ears. Never before had anyone said such a thing to him, and that night Sansa Stark, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, pledged her love for him. Drunk and frightened, he even blurted out a marriage proposal, and against all reason, Sansa agreed to be his wife.

Despite the battle surrounding them, his overwhelming fear of fire and the copious amounts of wine he consumed, Sandor mustered what little of his courage remained and finally freed the little bird from her cage.

Through the barren streets of King's Landing, he slashed his way through the King's Gate. It was so easy he would have laughed under different circumstances. Spurring the fierce warhorse north into the dense forests of the Riverlands, Sandor pushed Stranger harder than ever before as they made their escape, all the while holding Sansa tucked securely in his arms.

The little bird held on to him with all her might. She remained silent and her fear clung to her but never once did she utter a word of complaint. He would have fought the Warrior himself, so determined he was to honor his word to her. Sandor vowed he would keep her safe and gods be damned, he would do just that or die trying, one. His desire to protect her had reached a primal intensity, driving him onward through the battle scarred switchbacks off the main Kingsroad.

Once the brisk evening air cleared his head of the wine haze, a cold shower of disbelief fell over him. He freed Sansa Stark from the Lannisters at long last. Still, the thought haunted him that the extraordinary things Sansa said may very well have been merely a deception, a means of securing her escape.

_Mayhaps the little bird was desperate and only told me what I wanted to hear in hopes I would agree to take her with me. _ During the ride, Sandor replays the events of the evening over and over in his mind. Sansa's eyes were filled with such honest affection that he found such duplicity in her hard to fathom, though admittedly he was very drunk and taken by her charms at the time. _No time for this hackneyed bullshit and damn me, I've had too much wine to make heads or tails of it._

Sighing, he pours water from the canteen over his face. T1he chilly water awakens Sandor's dulled mind. Looking down at the little bird snuggled contentedly in his arms, he gently caresses her bruised cheek. _Bugger that; she's no Cersei._ Sansa is a terrible liar; no doubt he would have spotted any untruth coming from her lips, let alone lyingly claiming that she loved him.

The man has never had anyone say those words to him in his entire adult life and he wonders at the strange wave of emotion it has wrought in his heart, at once hopeful and warm coursing through him. Instinctively Sandor resists the feeling, it is so new and disconcerting to him. Experience has taught him to question if it is false, if this is yet another cruel jape at his expense from the gods.

_Though she's far too good for the likes of me, I'd be a fool to turn away from her. I'll not miss this chance with Sansa. I'd die a thousand times and gladly burn in the Seven hells for it. I'll wed the Little bird, take her to her family. She would like to see them again; it's been so long._ _Riverrun isn't so very far away; perhaps the Blackfish might find a way to reunite her with her brother and mother. _

A sudden anger floods his mind._ Gods, too much wine. What the fuck am I thinking? That they'll accept me and we'll all be one big happy family? Those bastards didn't even try to rescue the Little bird or her sister, so fuck them to the Seven Hells. Anyhow, Sansa's family will never believe I didn't ravage her the entire way to Riverrun. "_Bugger me," he curses, wiping the filthy rag over his face while blinking away the winesick haze.

Sandor has no doubt Sansa will tell her family the truth of the matter but ,knowing highborns as he does, in all likelihood they would rather believe the savage Hound forced her to marry him in order to escape the queen-anything rather than accept the truth. Admitting their gentle and beautiful girl willingly agreed to wed the scarred Lannister dog would be far more than their thrice damned pride would allow.

Once the Starks and Tullys convince themselves he brutalized her the entire way, her kingly brother will make certain Sandor won't keep his head long enough to find out what happens to Sansa after that. _The Young Wolf would no more keep her safe now than he did then, arrogant little twat. He'd only marry her to some high lord, who will never appreciate the treasure he has in her. _Sandor doubts it will come to that, however; for it will be only a matter of time before Tywin finishes off the so-called King in the North.

Long ago, Lord Eddard entrusted Sandor with Sansa's safety, and Sandor has come to see why he risked asking such a thing of him. Since then he dutifully kept his word but despite everything, Sandor knows the little bird's mother and brother will never trust him. _They will only see me as is King Joffrey's dog. They'll never bother to know Sandor Clegane, the man who rescued Winterfell's daughter, It won't matter that I'm the man who loves her and wants nothing more than to keep her safe and happy-the man who risked his neck for her, and will do it again to bring her back home where she belongs. _The very realization of this bitter truth leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Sandor spits on the ground, the man full of contempt and anger.

The sound of Sansa whimpering in his arms pulls him out of his dark thoughts. _The little bird's dreaming, probably that she is still in King's Landing being beaten by that fucker Meryn, poor thing._ "You're alright now, Little bird," he rasps softly into the crown of her hair. "You're alright. You're safe with me."

Rising up with a start, she sleepily looks around while clutching his arm. "Sandor, where are we?"

"In the Riverlands, love," Sandor replies before biting his tongue. He didn't mean for that to slip out, bloody hells.

Sansa looks up at him with a soft smile, her cheeks reddening at the sound of the pet name. "Oh, we traveled quite fast. Is it safe?"

"Fuck, no, it isn't safe. We're in the middle of a damned battleground," he smirks, offering her the canteen. Sansa tenses up in his arms as she slowly sips the water.

"Don't fret, though, we're not on the Kingsroad. We're in the forest among the Riverland clans. I've known the chief since I was a lad of three and ten, and a good man he is. We'll be safe enough here and well hidden besides. They aren't like the Mountain Clans of the Vale. "

Relaxing, Sansa wearily smiles at him once more. Leaning into his embrace, she quietly says, "I trust you, Sandor. It is only-well, to be afraid is just a reflex of sorts, traveling through here. It recalls bad memories."

"Oh?"

"Yes, it reminds me of when the King had Lady killed."

_Her direwolf,_ Sandor nods solemly. "Your Father should have turned around and headed back north after that." The scarred man strokes her cheek with his index finger. "He never should have gone to King's Landing."

Shivering, Sansa burrows down closer against his chest. "I wish he had, Sandor, truly I do. But then, we most likely never would have fallen in love." She shivers once more. "Hold me closer, love."

"Come here, lass, we can't risk you getting the ague," he mutters, pulling her up onto his lap and wrapping his cloak around her. "No matter what happened, I would have come back north for you, you best believe that."

Sandor's mind screams at him to hold his tongue even as the words, freed by wine and exhaustion, tumble out of his mouth. "You had me wrapped around your finger after that first day in the courtyard, when Joffrey struck you for cheering on your sister."

"Really?" Sansa's eyes widen as she wraps her arms around his neck, blushing at their intimate position. "I wish I had known that."

"I'll bet! You were just a wee lass, then," he rasps low, nuzzling into her hair. "Far too young for the likes of me and too highborn at that. But damn me, after the way you looked into my face that day, brave as anything, I would have come back for you when you were older, no matter the consequence."

Intrigued, Sansa sits up and turns toward him. "But what about King Joffrey? You were sworn to protect him. And what of Cersei? The queen-"

"Fuck Joffrey. Fuck the queen," Sandor growls and spits on the ground. "I would have sent them both to the Seven hells and laughed in their bloody faces the entire time. And then I would have headed north as soon as you celebrated your five and tenth nameday."

Giggling, she bashfully looks away. "You are teasing me."

"No lass," he mutters low. "You best believe I'd have asked your Father for your hand, too, though it'd probably cost me my head. I'd damn well do anything to have you, Little bird," Chuckling, Sandor shakes his head. "Here I am, calling you pet names and mooning over you like a green boy. Drunk as a dog, damn me. I need to sleep it off and should bloody well close my trap while I'm at it."

Sansa laughs and pats his arm resting around her waist. "You are most intoxicated still, that is true. A new side of the fearsome Hound, indeed."

"Not a new side, an old familiar one."

"I must admit I would have loved to have seen you ask Father for my hand."

Snorting, Sandor bends to kiss her. "Might be you drank too much of Cersei's shitty Arbor gold yourself in Maegor's."

She shakes her head. "I had a few sips but not so much that I do not know my own mind." Laughing, she curls her head to look up at him. "Can you only imagine Mother's face? It would not have ended well, I assure you, especially since Jory Cassel already asked for my hand."

"Cassel? I know that name. He was the young man who was your father's Captain of the Guard? The man Jaime killed when he took Lord Eddard?"

"Yes, one in the same. He was very good to our family, and kind to me as well."

"No wonder he didn't like me, then." Sandor watches her face cloud over nervously.

Sighing, Sansa leans back against his chest. Silently she brushes the tears from her eyes and clings closer to him. "Jory was a good man, kind and brave, but I did not want him. He did not deserve to die."

"He and many like him," Sandor says quietly. "Thinking on it only leads to more misery. I've got you now, that's all that matters," he quickly adds, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "I'll take you to your family when things settle down."

"Where are we going for now?" Sansa whispers against his breastplate, seemingly oblivious to the filth covering his armor.

"I'm taking you to an old hunter's cabin deep in the woods beside the water. My father brought me and Gregor there as boys to look for game. Plenty of fish in the river, too. There's a hot springs not far from it where you can bathe," Sandor says low, wiping a smudge from her porcelain cheek with his handkerchief.

* * *

The bright yellow moon sinks into the third phase when they reach the log cabin. As they approach the small dwelling, laughter echoes from inside. Frowning, Sandor dismounts and leads Stranger down river into a small craggy outcropping. "Little bird, you stay on Stranger, you hear? He'll keep you safe."

"Your _horse_ will keep me safe?" Her voice rises in alarm. "You would entrust me to a _horse_?"

Sandor bites back his laughter with great difficulty. "Stanger is a _warhorse_, Sansa, not some plough animal-a courser I personally trained to kick and bite. In battle, he acts as a weapon and fights alongside me. And like the Hound," he grins and winks at her, "He's more protection than four average soldiers, Sansa. You'll be safe, trust me. Say you trust me, lass."

"I-I promise I trust you. You have always kept me safe," Sansa whispers, taking his hand. "And I know you will again."

Hearing his little bird openly express faith in him swells his heart with a warm, unfamiliar feeling. "You best believe I will," Sandor kisses her hand and nods before disappearing into the blackness.

Sword drawn, he slowly creeps up to the cabin and squints through the thin plaid curtains. Inside there is an assortment of Lannister deserters hiding out, drinking and entertaining several poxy wenches. Each man's cloak is adorned with the Seven pointed star and in the low candlelight Sandor can make out dark purple droplets staining the boots and armor of each man. Sneering, he recalls seeing Gregor wearing the same on his armor and cloak after his knighthood. "Anointed with holy wine from the septon," he snarls before kicking in the door.

"Drunken buggering bastards," Sandor rages, surveying the knights with a sword in each hand. "You aren't worth spit, the lot of you." The men struggle to scramble to their feet, only succeeding in falling over each other in their drunken haste. The wenches hurriedly pull down their skirts and avert their an idea springs into Sandor's head.

"Hound!" One of the men slurs, blinking his eyes. "How did you come to find us? What you doin' in these parts?"

"The Hound no longer. I'm his ghost, you fucking sons of bitches!" Sandor roars, all the while struggling to keep from bursting out laughing as he waves his swords at the gaping group. "I died on the Blackwater or didn't you hear?"

"Tyrion's sellsword Bronn said a wall of fire was headed for you, last he saw," one man offers.

"That runt has the right of it. My brother, however, is very much alive."

Puzzled, the knight glances at the others. "The Mountain?"

"Aye," Sandor leans in close, forcing the soldier to look at his burns. "You see what he did, do you? You men believe in the gods?"

One man draws up slowly on his knee. "I believe in the Seven."

Snarling out a harsh laugh, Sandor hisses, "The Stranger brought me back from the Seven hells to give warning that Gregor is in the area and thirsting for blood. Now get the bloody hells out of here. Don't let me catch you around here again or you men will find yourselves a head shorter."

"Yes, Hound, we won't come back this way with you haunting the wood!"

"Away with you then!" Chuckling, Sandor warily watches the men disappear into the night before retrieving Sansa from the woods. Gently he lifts her down from the saddle and sets her in the doorway.

"See them ride away, did you?" Sandor grins at her startled expression.

Cautiously looking around, Sansa sighs in relief. "Yes, I did. I expected to find a different outcome, I must admit." Sansa glances about her, a slow smile spreading across her face. "It is quite snug in here."

He snorts and shrugs at her. "As you say. Come, Little bird, let's unroll these furs and get some sleep."

* * *

"Sandor! Sandor, wake up!" The little bird excitedly calls to him at first light.

"What? What the fuck is it now?" The man growls hoarsely, at once on his feet and drawing his swords. At the sudden movement Sandor gags, his throat gravelly as though full of sand. As he tilts his head, a sudden throbbing hammers at his temples, sending a wave of nausea rolling through his stomach. Blinking rapidly so his eyes will adjust to the dim light, Sansa's beautiful smile soon comes into focus._ The forest is quiet. I wonder what awakened her?_

"What do you hear out there?" He rasps low, pulling her to his side.

Despite the rough night, he marvels that the beautiful young woman looks no worse for wear. Grinning, Sandor leisurely takes in the lovely sight before him.

Sansa's cheeks pink slightly under his intense stare, her clear dark blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Nothing, silly! Please, put away your sword." Taking him by the hand, she leads him over to the window. "Just look at that, will you? Isn't it lovely?"

The rosy light of dawn is slowly emerging over the distant mountains. Rubbing his aching head, Sandor nods slowly and lowers his sword. _Leave it to the little bird to get excited over a buggering sunrise of all things._

"It is the start of a new day! It is our first day of freedom, Sandor!" Sansa beams at him, clasping her hands.

"Aye, that it is. Chirp softer, will you? My head is throbbing." Drawing from the canteen, he swishes the cool water through his parched mouth and spits. Gingerly he moves beside her next to the window and reaches around her waist, nuzzling the nape of her neck.

"Are you alright?" Sansa asks, a look of concern clouding her face as she gently rests her hand on his cheek.

Stammering, Sandor realizes she is wearing only her fine turquoise shift and he his smallclothes. "Sansa, what in Seven hells-"

"Easy, love, or you will make your head ache even more," Sansa softly says, handing him a damp cloth.

Sandor gapes in disbelief as he wipes his face._The little bird doesn't seem bothered by our state of undress. _

Smiling up at him shyly, Sansa smooths down the front of her silk shift but still shows no signs of embarrassment at finding herself half dressed in his arms. The man cannot help but be mesmerized at the sight of her in the early morning light. The sun has set Sansa's hair ablaze and her pale skin is flushed pink with happiness. Wrapping her arms around his waist, Sansa snuggles still closer, her crystal blue eyes sparkling happily as she regards him.

"It is just beautiful, isn't it?" She sighs contentedly, rubbing small circles over the bare skin of his low back and setting every nerve in his body tingling with desire. "Our first morning together."

"Aye, very beautiful, indeed," he rasps, meaning her. Gazing at her with all his might, Sandor believes he could stare at her forever and never tire of her endless beauty. _That little shit Joffrey never knew what he had, the worthless little inbred bastard. Well, she's mine now and I'll kill anyone that dares try to hurt her again. _

As they watch the sun rise over the ridge, the realization that he finally has fulfilled his promise to Lord Eddard descends upon him; and it is one of the few times in his life that Sandor feels a surge of pride. Relief settles over his heart, leaveing him at ease for the first time he can remember. Now that he successfully freed her from her cage, Sandor is afraid she will soon discover that he is not the man she sees as she stares into his eyes.

She trusts him so thoroughly that she stands before him in her underclothes and holds him close in her arms, as though he is the most precious thing in the world to her. He cannot deny it; Sandor wants her, gods be damned, more than he has ever wanted anything in his entire life. His heart aches even as his body burns for her. Earlier she kissed him and said she would be his wife. When Sansa tells him she loves him, there is not a single part of him that does not long to believe her sweet words.

Shutting out his self-doubt, Sandor decides to enjoy the moment and pulls her close to his chest, inhaling her sweet scent as his mouth twitches into a grin. "Prettier than any sunrise you are, lass. How you manage to smell so fresh in these raw parts is beyond me, Little bird."

Blushing, Sansa slowly takes in his bare chest as a small giggle escaped her lips. He is just about to get angry when he hears her softly say, "My love, I am afraid you have forgotten something."

Frowning, he glares down at her. "What the fuck is it? I'm in no mood for games, lass."

Glancing away, a deep flush spreads across her cheeks and Sansa gestures toward his waist. "Forgive me, but you are a bit exposed, that is to say, _undressed_, my love."

Sandor grasps at his waistband and realizes his breeches are unlaced. Worse still, he is as hard as stone from being so close to her. "Fuck me sideways," he mutters, turning away from her and quickly lacing up his breeches.

Sansa erupts into peals of laughter. "Oh my love, you really did have too much wine last night for you to forget yourself in such a way!"

"Never mind that," he chuckles, pulling her back to the furs. "Time for both of us to catch a few more winks, what say you to that?"

Yawning, Sansa stretches her long limbs and holds her arms out to him. "Oh yes, let us do that. Come here, dearest, I wish to sleep in your arms as I did earlier in the saddle."

Swallowing hard, Sandor moves beside her, settles down into the bedroll and presses her close to his chest. Silently, he whispers a prayer of thanks to Lord Eddard, the first he has uttered since he was burned. Afterward, he quickly falls fast asleep with Sansa tucked safely in his arms once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 The Hound's Dream**

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_In the darkness Sandor faintly hears Sansa crying herself to sleep. He turns to find she is no longer safely lying against him. Standing in a defensive stance, the man looks down and is surprised to discover he is outfitted in heavy armor and wearing his helm. From his vantage point, Sandor realizes he is on duty guarding Sansa and Arya but from what he cannot tell._

_Arya moves closer to her sister on the pallet before settling on her heels. Her hair is cut short an she is hugging her knees to her chest. Frowning, the girl rocks back and forth, holding her secrets hard in her heart. "Sissy," Arya quietly calls to Sansa, "Are you alright?" _

_"Go to the little she-wolf, lass," he rasps low. To his dismay, Sansa continues crying, seemingly unable to hear them._

_There are shadows surrounding the three of them, dark and foreboding in their presence. One stands beside him as heavily armored as he, golden and beautiful and shining brilliantly in the early morning sun. _

_"Jaime fucking Lannister," he hears himself say, glancing at Sansa. She continues crying, seemingly unable to hear his words. _

_"Need some help, Hound?" The lion sneers, unsheathing his sword and pointing in front of them. Directly in their path looms a giant outfitted in armor made of gleaming pure white stone. His helm bears seven plumes in the colors of the Faith of the Seven and his cloak of office is clasped at his massive shoulders by symbols in the shape of seven-pointed stars. Armor made from rock-Casterly Rock, Sandor swallows hard with grim recognition._

_"Fuck off, Lion. This ungodly beast is the doing of your family seat, I'll wager."_

_"True, true, Hound, but it is not brought by me-you know that much." _

_It is true; Sandor senses as much in his heart. Turning toward the giant, Sandor jerks his head at the Kingslayer. "Get the Stark girls out of here, now!"_

_"No can do, Hound; I am sent to help you defeat the behemoth my sister has wrought at the hands of Qyburn, that despicable bastard."_

_"No, Hound! I can help! I have Needle!" Arya shouts angrily, taking her position in front of Sansa and waving her thin blade._

_"Get back I said, now! That thing shits bigger than you." _

_Smirking, Arya steps closer to Sansa. "True enough, Hound, but I will not go and you can't make me! We both can help you if you let us!"_

_"Bugger that! Get Sansa out of here!"_

_The giant slowly advances toward them. "Gregor, show yourself, gods be damned!" Sandor roars while unsheathing two massive swords, one of which shimmers black and red Valyrian steel. "Quit hiding beneath that getup."_

_"I've never had such a weapon," Sandor mutters to himself, examining the fine blade in his hand as he swings sharply toward the enemy before them._

_When the giant rotates his visor upward, Sandor rears back as he beholds only darkness within the helm of the monstrous knight. Thick black blood pours from the eyeholes and ventail of the helm as the giant draws nearer to him, swinging a six foot long two-handled greatsword._

_The Kingslayer parries the blow with a loud shout. At the sound of his voice, Sansa awakens and dries her tears. _

_Suddenly the scene is transformed into the crypts of Winterfell. Slowly the little bird walks toward him, laying her hand on his arm._

_"Sandor, I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell, as is Arya," she smiles sadly. "So are you, though you do not know it yet. I must return there and I need you with me."_

_"For fuck's sake, now is not the time! Run, Little bird!" He shouts at the top of his voice, and at his command Sansa and Arya both disappear into a dense snow laden evergreen labyrinth._

"Sandor, dearest, you are having a nightmare. Please, let loose your hold, you are hurting me!" Sandor hears Sansa gasp out, her sharp nails grasping the flesh of his back for purchase.

Trembling violently and covered in sweat, he opens his eyes. Sansa is staring at him, pale and frightened. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, he slumps into her neck and rests his face against her shoulder while struggling to slow his uneven breathing.

Gently he releases her hands and kisses each wrist softly. Sansa slowly smiles at his touch. "Are you alright?"

"Forgive me, love, I had the most terrible of dreams, damn me," he rasps hoarsely against her collarbone. "Bloody hells, I did not mean to hold you so. Did I-did I hurt you very badly?"

"Only at the very last moment when I called out your name but it is nothing serious," Sansa whispers breathlessly, the color slowly returning to her cheeks. The fluttering of her pulse against his jawline corresponds wth the hammering heartbeat against his chest. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts slows markedly as she regards him. "You held me so tightly. What was is it about?"

_Fuck, I've scared her._ "Forgive me, Sansa but I'd rather not say. I've never had such a nightmare, not since right after I was burned by Gregor." Sighing again, he kisses her neck.

Sansa leans into him. "I understand. There is nothing to forgive, my love. We cannot help our dreams. I have had terrible nightmares in the past, you recall." Running her fingers through the length of his hair, she twirls the ends and shrugs. "As you are a man of battle, I should not have embraced you but awakened you from afar. Father used to warn us about that very thing growing up. It-it is only that is the way Arya and I would comfort each other after such at Winterfell and it was my first instinct to hold you."

"It is no fault of your own, Sansa," he says quietly. Unable to resist, he places his lips on her pulse and tastes the warm flesh of her neck before slowly kissing her tenderly over the spot.

Gasping, Sansa moans softly and pulls him closer while running her hands through his hair. Surprised by her response, Sandor brushes his hands over her hardened nipples through the fine material of her gown and kisses her mouth deeply, touching her tongue with his own.

"My love," Sansa gasps against his mouth, arching her back to him. "Your touch-it feels so good." Emboldened, he traces the curve of her breast and allows his fingers to settle in the dip of her waist.

Sandor watches as the little bird hesitantly tugs at the deep turquoise ribbons of her shift. "Sandor, I love you and I would not turn you away now, if this is what you wish-"

_No, not like this_, his mind recalls him to his senses. Gently Sandor stills her hands. "No, Little bird, you deserve better than this, lass. As much as I want to, I'll not take you here. Not like this," Sandor rasps low, moving away from her. "I-I mean to make you my wife first."

Blushing, Sansa's eyes glitter happily at his words. "I would like that very much, Sandor! Oh, I cannot wait for us to be wed-it is like a dream, for you and me to be joined in such a way."

Anger surges through him. "How do you mean? Have me pegged as one of your knights in shining armor, do you?"

"Oh no, my love," Sansa giggles, ignoring his gruff tone and wrapping her arms around his waist. Delicately she rests her cheek against his chest. "You have always hated them so. I learned to hate them too. You were right about them, Sandor. You are so much more than a knight to me and a better man in court I have never met."

Gently she runs her fingernails over the hair on his chest. "You are honorable just as Father said, and you are the man I love. How could anything be better than being joined to you in the sight of the gods?"

Scowling, Sandor tries to ignore the shivers of pleasure her touch is drawing from his body and tilts up her chin so he can look into her eyes. "Your Father said I was honorable, did he?"

Sansa's large blue eyes soften as she returns his gaze. "Does that surprise you?"

Snorting, he nods. "You could say that."

"Oh, yes, Father said so to the family before we left Winterfell when he told them I was to be Joffrey's queen." Slowly she reaches for his face and outlines the pattern of burns over his cheek with her fingertips. "Father told everyone at the table, 'The Hound has honor in him, and I am glad for it for my girls' sake. I'll not hear him maligned at my table.' He also repeated his words on the Kingsroad."

_Why would Lord Eddard do that, for fuck's sake? Perhaps the Little bird's family knew of Ned's intentions after all, even back then._ Puzzled, Sandor moves closer still and gazes wistfully into her eyes. "And just how did that come up?"

Sansa knits her brows in thought. "Well, when you stopped Gregor from killing Ser Loras." Brightening, she quickly adds, "Also, Father told me after he killed Lady that Cersei nagged Robert to hang her body up on the racks as a warning to anyone who would hurt Joffrey. Father was horrified and so that night he snuck back into the stables after the second phase of the moon. On his way there, he came upon you burying Lady in a deep grave by the moonlight. He said you carefully wrapped her in grey cloth and laid her to rest beside the river."

Shrugging, Sandor looks away, somewhat embarrassed Sansa learned of his behavior.

"Please, do not turn away from me," she whispers while drawing his face to hers. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, the young woman takes his face in her hands. "I never thanked you properly for giving her what I could not," Sansa smiles shyly before deeply kissing him with such intensity the man can barely catch his breath.

"Sansa," he gasps out as she pulls away from him. "I did it all for you, lass."

"You are beautiful, Sandor Clegane, and I love you. Though I know it is very hard for you, please, you must not scoff at my words," Sansa whispers against his mouth before he can respond. "You must never doubt the depth of my love for you. You will learn to trust me in time, of that I am certain."

Overwhelmed by her expression, Sandor's head veritably swims with a plethora of unfamiliar emotions. Love for his Little bird tinged with pride, heated desire, skepticism, uncertainty and inexplicable irritation all take shape in his heart. "Little bird," he harshly rasps as he leans his forehead against hers, the grating tone of his voice breaking the quiet morning air.

Sansa pulls closer still, her body warm and supple in his arms. Her velvety skin emits her own sweet scent mixed with lavender and over it all, the sulfuric remnants of wildfire. Underneath he also discovers she smells of wine and sweat, of dirt and armor, of _him_, and the man is utterly aroused by the intoxicating blend. Drawing her flush against him, he mutters into her hair, "I feel the truth of your words, lass. And know that I-I love you, Sansa."

"I know you do, dearest, but I love hearing you say it just the same. Come," she smiles up at him, squeezing him close before leading him to the doorway. "We are both in need of a bath. Let us take a dip and remove the acrid odor of wildfire. With the gods blessing we will never smell such again. What say you?"

"Aye, we'll do just that," he chuckles at her tactful choice of words, the man knowing full well it is _he_ who is in dire need of said bath. "You go first, Little bird. I'll stand guard in the clearing just above the hot springs."

Spotting the deep blush spreading over her skin, Sandor raises his eyebrows at her and drinks deeply from the canteen. "No need to fret about your modesty. I'll only peek a little."

Giggling uneasily, Sansa turns away and nervously gathers her things. "I-I do not mind so very much, if you, uh, wish to look. We are to be married and it should be thus between us."

Spitting out his water in surprise, Sandor laughs until he chokes. When finally he regains his composure, he shakes his head with a wicked grin. "Bloody hells, I've corrupted you already. One night with me has you prancing around in your smallclothes, freely giving kisses, sleeping in my bedroll and offering to let me peek at you."

Sansa blushes and joins in his laughter. "My septa would faint if she could see me, it is true. However, I no longer care about the proper behavior for a highborn." After a moment, she thoughtfully continues, "I love my mother and the god and never would I want to shame them. I have also seen the hypocrisy of those who only call upon their beliefs to somehow elevate themselves over those who believe differently. Sandor, I only want to be with you and to love you completely in body as well as heart."

Sansa's eyes are earnest and full of trust, so much so that Sandor chokes down the temptation to tease her any further. "You are a proper lady, Sansa, and kind as well. It is who you are, and for all my needling, I never want to see you ashamed of it, you hear?" Sandor mutters low, strapping on his armor while eying her closely.

"Thank you," Sansa says softly as she starts to unlatch the heavy iron lock.

"No, Sansa, you must learn to be more cautious! Bloody hells, we're on the run; you need wait until I have a look around first," he growls low, drawing his sword and cautiously peering around the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone for the kind reviews and helpful comments! You guys are so encouraging it really fuels the muse :D Enjoy!**

**Chapter 3 Lessons Learned**

After he finishes surveying the area, the scarred man tips his head toward her, indicating it is safe to come out. Sansa slowly moves in front of him and cups his cheek.

"Do you not think you are being a bit too cautious?" She sadly traces the line of his mouth stretched thin and taut with apprehension. "I know it is your habit but we are far from King's Landing now. No one is here, Sandor, you said so yourself. Your nightmare has upset you, nothing more. Come, you'll feel better after a bath."

Dread takes sharp hold of him now that the wine is out of his system._ I've got to make her see we will never be safe until we reach Winterfell. _Grimly the man clutches her shoulders, his large calloused hands chafing her bare shoulders. "Sansa, you've been sheltered for a long time and unaccustomed to the scum we'll encounter on the road."

"After my experience in King's Landing, I hardly consider myself sheltered," Sansa quietly replies, turning away from him. "And for _you_ of all people to suggest otherwise is beyond belief."

Sandor grabs her by the arm and pulls her closer to him, not ungently. The startled look in Sansa's eyes reminds him that he must calm down if he is to reach her. Tipping her chin up to him, he stares levelly into her lovely face and the sight of the fading bruise on her cheek strengthens his resolve to protect her.

Holding her against him, he subconsciously clenches and releases his grip on her waist, his stormy eyes flashing with fear. "You've got your whole life before you. What you've seen is only the beginning of what this gods forsaken world has in it, Sansa, you best believe."

"I know that, Sandor. Please, calm yourself." Removing his arms, she holds his hands in her own. "Enough of this. I do trust you, and I do not need you to remind me of the evils that await us at every moment. My experiences have changed me."

"Believe that, do you?" He frowns at her and moves closer, jerking his chin at her. "I hope to Seven hells you have changed, but just because you've seen more than your share of horror doesn't mean you've learned, Sansa."

"What do you mean?"

"Your father saw the worst of men during Robert's Rebellion and he didn't." Sandor grits his teeth. "He saw what my brother did to Elia and her children. I knew Lord Eddard dreaded what you would be in for in King's Landing-why else would he ask the likes of me to watch out for you?"

"Sandor, turn me loose," Sansa crossly pulls away from him. "I don't need you to lecture me about my father's intentions or anything else, for that matter. My father was a good man and did what he thought was best. Joffrey and Cersei took advantage of that."

Gripping her chin tightly, he forces her to look at him. "Here's your truth, Little bird: your precious father took a huge gamble trusting the likes of me. He lost his bet when he listened to your mother and chose to trust Littlefinger. The signs were all there, but Ned went against his better instinct and trusted him. Might have very well turned out the same with me. I'll not make that same mistake with you."

"Sandor, please, stop this at once," Sansa twists away, her eyes glistening with angry tears. "My father was an honorable man and he did not randomly entrust me to you! He saw the honor in you, which is why he chose you-though he would be hard pressed to prove such honor at present! You and he are not so very different."

"So you believe Ned was like me, eh? Men of honor, both of us," he laughs without mirth. "Bugger that. Lord of Winterfell, Hand of the King, Warden of the North, the honorable, noble Eddard Stark ignored his instincts in favor of honor when it came to becoming the king's hand, didn't he? He learned the error of his ways the hard way on Baelor's steps. Answer me, where did his honor get him then?"

"Honor is not something to be put away whenever it is convenient, not _true_ honor. You know this, though you no doubt will mock me for saying it. Isn't that why you agreed to help me, even at great risk to yourself? Because the honor within you didn't allow you to turn your back on the promise you made to my father."

Snorting, Sandor yanks her close to his chest and holds the back of her head so she cannot look away from him. "Foolish little bird-you think that was for your father? Don't you know why I did it?"

Staring at him defiantly, Sansa's eyes darken with fury. "Tell me, Sandor, since I am a foolish bird who cannot understand a word you say unless you shout and growl. How could I possibly know such a thing without you are here to tell me?"

_Just tell her you love her, and always have; that is why you kept your word. Say it, you buggering bastard_. _Tell her you're afraid you will lose her if she isn't more cautious._ Sandor pushes her away and slams his fist against the table. "You know why. Don't play your fucking games with me."

"You are the one playing games." Sansa says sadly, tears glittering in her eyes.

Sandor pinches her jaw between his fingers. "Ilyn Payne's blade went through your father's neck, didn't it? Honor doesn't count for shit, Sansa, believe that. You've got to remember that most in this world would do you harm. You and I are fugitives and there are plenty who will kill us both if you aren't more cautious." Though his heart burns with shame, Sandor's drive to protect her is stronger than any regret. "I'm honest, and you'd better get used to it. Damn it, if you expect me to get you home in one piece, you need to trust me and do as I say, understand?"

A look of recognition and sadness passes through Sansa's eyes as she regards him. Drawing closer to the scarred man, she rests her hand on his shoulder in the same manner she did the night on the serpentine. "For all your growling, I cannot be made to fear you. You won't hurt me."

Rubbing his hand over his face, he turns his back to her. Fear and necessity within the man had driven his harsh speech but now shame washes over him at her words. "No, Little bird, I won't hurt you," he rasps softly.

Sansa delicately places her hands on his chest and rubs a small circle over his heart. "You taught me well, Sandor. You helped me at a great risk to yourself and I'll not forget that, no matter what matter what the future holds for us. I love you for all you've done. You are a hard man, you've had to be your entire life, and I understand that. I know that you love me, though you don't always act like it. It is difficult for you to express your feelings."

Swallowing hard, he keeps his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Sandor, I have listened to you and I have learned from what happened to my father-that is why I left with you. I knew if I stayed in King's Landing, the Lannisters would kill me."

Satisfied she understands the danger, he nods while sheepishly avoiding her eyes. Sansa cups his cheek in her hand and tenderly strokes the scarred flesh with her thumb. "But Sandor,such learning does not only work one way-_you_ must learn from me as well. If we are to live together, you cannot continue to scold me or speak in such an intimidating manner-there is no need for you to be thus with me. It frightens me, and it reminds me of-"

Bile rises in his throat at her inference. "For fuck's sake, don't say it, Sansa-"

Hot tears slip down her cheeks. "You could have spoken to me without giving in to your terrible temper. Must every conversation turn this way between us? I-I did not leave one cage of fear only to be locked into another, Sandor."

The young woman warily starts up the rocky trail toward it with Sandor hot on her heels. "Sansa, fuck-"

Furiously she hurries toward the plume of billowing white steam rising upslope from the cabin in a vain attempt to outpace his long stride. Sandor remains beside her the entire way with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Sansa-"

"Go away. I'm going to take a bath whether you stay here or not." Sansa glares at him while desperately trying to unlace the back of her gown. "Oh, this blessed garment! It is wholly ruined!"

He shrugs. "You brought another, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course I did. You carried the parcel, remember?" She petulantly mutters, pulling at the lacings of her gown angrily, further knotting them in her haste.

Grunting, he looks warily around the forest. "Go ahead then." Bending down, he tentatively dips his finger into the water. "The temperature's just right."

Continuing the struggle with the lacings, Sansa grumbles under her breath, "You may go."

"Little bird, you insist on having a bath, so you're going to have a guard while you do it," he devilishly sneers at her.

Her cheeks redden but instead of giving up as he expected, she turns toward him. "If you insist, Sandor, but I would ask you to at least help me out of this gown."

"It'll be my pleasure, _my lady_," he bares his teeth in a wicked grin, closing the distance between them.

_The word sounds more like a curse coming from him, _Sansa thinks briefly, the young woman gasping as he unsheathes his fighting knife.

"Don't move a muscle, lass," he says. With one hand gripping the front of her gown, he carefully moves the blade up the center of the bodice and tears the garment in two.

"There," he smirks and steps back, examining his handiwork. "I didn't cut your shift, so quit your scowling."

Sansa clutches the remains of the gown close to her breast, shaking her head. "You are impossible."

"And you are out of your bloody mind, Little bird, if you think I'm going to fuck around with a damned dress all day like some buggering handmaiden," he laughs at her. "Get your bath and be quick about it, will you?" He glances up at the sky. "Storm's coming."

Sitting on a nearby log, the man turns his back to her and methodically begins stroking a whetstone against the blade of his shortsword. The sound of material rustles behind him, summoning images of her exquisite body to his mind. Cursing to himself, the man fights to ignore the tightening in his breeches while the sounds of Sansa undressing continue nearby.

Gingerly she steps out of her gown and shift, hissing in pain. She is relieved Sandor cut her gown, for the young woman finds she is barely able to raise her arms over her head. The long ride on horseback followed by sleeping on the floor have awakened the throbbing ache from the beating she took from Ser Meryn."

"Sandor, please, help me in the water," Sansa gasps in agony as she kneels at the water's edge. "I would never ask it of you while I am unclothed, but-"

"Bugger that! What is it that hurts?" He rushes to her. "Fuck," he swears as he looks upon his beloved little bird's black and purple bruises marring her creamy skin. The path of the knights blows circles her ribs, down her back and across her upper thighs before disappearing under her smallclothes. "I didn't know it was this bad," he spits out, the man barely able to restrain his fury.

"It did not look to be at first but later-"Sansa shifts uncomfortably under his intense gaze.

"Aye that's the way it usually is, Little bird. That thrice damned buggering bastard," Sandor snarls, carefully lifting her in his arms and wading to the warm bubbling water. "I'll gut him balls to brains if I ever see him again for this, lass. Come now, the warm water will ease your misery."

At the feel of his large calloused hands on her bare skin, Sansa blushes furiously and casts her eyes downward. "We left all of that behind us in King's Landing, love."

"Aye that we did. We'll rest here for a day or two; that and a few hot baths should set you aright." Sandor eases her into the shallow end.

"Thank you," she whispers, and as he pulls away Sandor feels the lightest brush of her lips against his cheek. When she is settled, he hurriedly returns to the log and resumes sharpening his blade, only then allowing a smile to spread across his face. There is a lot about women he does not understand and he cannot help but wonder at the sudden change in her behavior.

The splashing of water followed by the soft sound of her singing disrupts his thoughts further. "Hush, Little bird. Your sweet voice might lead to trouble."

"Oh, forgive me," she calls. "Sandor the water feels so good! You must come in!"

The tightness of his breeches is already unbearable and there is nothing he would like better than to strip off and join her, but he resolutely refuses. Sandor knows that for all her bravado, the Little bird is far too innocent to know the effect she is having on him. "I'd rather wait until you're finished so I can keep watch."

A twig snaps in the meadow across from the pool, setting all of Sandor's senses on edge. Squinting into the dense foliage, he examines the area once more. A white tail deer leaps out of the brush and bounds up the hill behind them.

"Did you see that, Sandor?" Sansa's cheerful voice echoes.

"Yes, there goes our breakfast," he grumbles. "Hush now." Straining his ears, he faintly hears the crack of another twig, this time closer.

Glancing toward Sansa, he sees she is seemingly oblivious to the sound. _Fuck me, I'm imagining things-I'm still on edge from the battle. _Sandor moves closer to the pool for good measure and peeks over at Sansa once again, his mouth falling agape at the stunning sight before him_._

Gliding the bar of soap over her supple skin, she is carefully running her sudsy hands over every inch her firm body with care, scrubbing away the dirt and soot from the wildfire. When she finishes lathering her skin, she ducks under the water several times and then begins shampooing her hair, all the while humming softly to herself. Sandor curses himself, knowing he should turn away, but instead he moves closer still, until the man is only a few strides from the pool.

Squeezing its length through her hands, she carefully runs her fingers through the thick strands checking for soap before she steps backward into the small waterfall. Mesmerized, Sandor watches the soapy water streaming over her full breasts tipped in pink and flowing down her waist, stomach and lower, where her woman's place is obscured by a patch of red curls darker than the hair on her head. Sansa arches her back, her full breasts thrusting forward as she rinses her long mane, the wet strands shining brightly against her pale skin in the morning sun.

Sandor would give anything to strip off his clothes, take her into his arms, and explore every inch of her luscious body with his hands and tongue. Never has he been so aroused in all his life, and Sandor's manhood hardens painfully when she cautiously steps out of the pool and begins drying herself.

He notices goose bumps rise over her creamy flesh in response to the cold breeze carrying through the wood. He would love to hold her close and warm her skin with his hands. Sandor loosens the lacings on his breeches to give himself some room, the man knowing he will not be at ease until he tends to his needs.

Wincing, Sansa carefully steps into her lace smallclothes and ties the yellow ribbons securing the garment to her hips. "Sandor? Sandor?" Sansa calls softly, looking his direction in the thick underbrush.

_Fuck, did she know I was watching her the whole time?_ His heart races at the sound of her sweet voice saying his name. _If she did, she sure as hell didn't seem to mind. _After a brief hesitation, Sandor steps out of the brush, his hardened arousal making each movement uncomfortable. "What is it, Little bird?"

"Please, I know it is not, well, proper, but I need help with this shift and gown. Forgive me, I am far too sore to dress myself." Sansa grasps the clothing against her body, her face reddening.

"Bloody hells, who gives a fuck about what is proper?" He chuckles, waving her toward him.

Smiling shyly, she quickly approaches and turns her back to him. "Thank you. Would you please lift this over my head and lace the shoulders?"

Standing behind her does little to obscure his view of her perfect breasts. Sighing, he gathers the shift in his hands and gently settles the garment over her body. Turning her around, he begins fumbling with the laces while trying not to stare at the way the silky material clings to her hardened nipples. Gasping, she points over his shoulder, her eyes wide with fear.

Whirling around with both swords drawn, Sandor snarls as three men step out to face him.

"Well, what do we have here?" An unfamiliar voice calls out of the thicket. "Sam, look! We've got a bathing beauty and an ugly Hound in a bit of a compromising position."


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for the follows and kind reviews. Life has been crazy, but I'll personally answer you as soon as I can :D**

**Chapter 4 Traitors and Allies**

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"You men don't have shit, runt," the Hound growls through bared teeth, appearing more like the ferocious beast of his sigil than man. "The lot of you can't take on the likes of me. Stark deserters, Baratheon deserters, Lannister deserters-you all look like a bunch of swineherds. Cowards, all of you, creeping up on a man, never facing him in a straight fight."

"Some of us once where swineheards and tanners and masons but we're collecting bounty on you, Hound, just the same." Leering at Sansa over Sandor's shoulder, the former Stark man adds, "I mean to get a taste of that little lady you've got stowed away."

Sansa gasps again and steps closer to him until Sandor draws his sword and waves one hand behind him so she will stand clear. "Little bird, go on back now. Bolt the door and don't come out, you hear?"

"Yes, Sandor," the Little bird replies, hurrying back to the cabin while glancing over her shoulder.

"You buggering bastards would have a better chance of tunneling your way out of the Seven hells than escaping me," the Hound snarls, advancing on the men.

"That Lord Eddard's daughter?" The Stark man, wide eyed, asks weakly as Sansa retreats into the woods behind Sandor. "I could swear that's Winterfell's daughter, lads."

"Bugger that," Sansa hears Sandor snarl as she quickly darts into the cabin, her state of undress forgotten in her distress. Once inside, the young woman stares out the small frost covered window at the scene.

"Fuck off," the Hound growls, his rasping voice echoing through the wood. "You men came to die so let's get on with it!"

"There's six of us, Clegane, and one more tying the horses," the bearded man jeers. "How do you figure on beating us all?"

"I'll kill you bloody sons of bitches one at a time, same as any other bastard I've put in the ground. Should be easy enough. I've killed more men like you than I can count," Sandor inspects the ragged men with a snort. "Come on, who wants to die first?"

Visibly disconcerted by his bravado, the men fan out and draw their weapons. Sandor charges the man nearest to him, slashing through the pauldrons of the Baratheon soldier and sending him reeling away, shrieking in agony. Whirling around, he parries a second man advancing from behind. In a panic, the soldier quickly raised his shield, grunting as he absorbs a brutal blow the Hound crashes down over his head. Cheering, his companions clamor away from the fighting.

"Bloody cowards,"Sandor curses and spits, circling around the man. When the soldier dips his head to pick up his sword, Sandor lands his blade squarely across the man's back. Straining hard, Sandor wrenches his sword free, and then spins around and drives his steel into the smaller soldier retreating behind him. "Thought I didn't see you, lad? You're dead wrong." The Hound growls into the dying man's face as he withdraws the blade.

"Now we've got a fight, lads!" The Stark man who threatened Sansa shouts, scratching his greasy beard and drawing his broad axe. "You'll not find me as easy to kill as those Baratheon bastards!"

"Get him Bors!"

Charging like a bull, Sandor runs straight at him, knocking the bearded man backward and loosening his grip on his weapon. Somehow the man manages to stay on his feet. The Hound ducks under the wild slash of his axe and brings his greatsword up in a backhand cut, taking the man's head almost clean off, spattering warm blood on the men nearby.

_None of the bearded man's companions are cheering anymore,_ Sandor sardonically laughs to himself. "Who's next?"

Sansa opens her eyes in time to see an auburn haired Lannister soldier charge toward Sandor, raising his weapon over his head. The shortsword in the soldier's hand suddenly seems like a toy against the long blade the Hound holds. Seeing the futility of his attack, the man changes tactics, swiftly sidestepping the Hound's thrust. The man is light on his feet, never taking his eyes off Sandor Clegane as he circles around him.

"Coward! Twat!" Sandor curses at him in a rage. High on the crag above them, a crow caws three times. Sandor glances upward with a wicked grin and then resumes engaging the man.

Out of the corner of his eye the squire scrambles to mount the frightened animal in his stead. Grunting, Sandor's hand reached for his belt as an arrow sails through the trees, coring the apple of the boy's throat.

"That was my brother!" The Lannister soldier agonizingly shouts as he sloppily lunges in Sandor's direction. A second arrow pierces the red headed soldier's side, lodging into the mail of his hauberk. Two more arrows finish the last remaining soldiers, each landing squarely in the throats of their targets.

"A gold stag for each man!" The Hound wickedly snarls, the sound as cold and hollow to Sansa as if it had come from the bottom of a cave. _Who is shooting arrows at the soldiers?_ Sansa keens her eyes along the bluffs but cannot make out the positions of the men.

Sandor's slides his sword in time to deflect the Lannister soldier's upper cut. The man attacks the Hound head on, the clashing of steel ringing out in the morning stillness. Slashing wildly, the soldier manages to make contact with Sandor's ribs, his mail catching the edge of the steel and grinding against the blade. Roaring, the Hound whirls around and drives his blade beneath the Lannister's soldier's mail and into the man's stomach, spilling his intestines out on the ground.

Crying out, Sansa starts to run to him but then remembers his order to stay put. _He seems alright._

Sandor kicks the dead man on the ground. "I was hoping you'd do something stupid. Now you can join your brother," he chuckles, the man wincing in pain as he bends down and places a sack of coin on the rocks next to the bodies.

"Many thanks lads," his rough voice resounds against the shale walls.

"We'll clean up this mess for you, Hound." A huge man with long white hair and draped in furs appears out of the treeline, squinting at Sandor's side. "Don't want to upset your woman any more than she already is."

"Me and Aeron will keep any more men from entering the area," another voice comes from above.

"Good on you, men," he rasps in reply. "You been getting very many of these deserters through here?"

"Aye, we have. Get back to your woman, Hound, and tend that wound," the grizzled man pats Sandor on the shoulder. "You bring her into our village on the morrow. Safer that way."

Grunting in agreement, Sandor looks over the dead men once more before he turns toward the cabin. "They're all dead. Come on out, Little bird."

Despite his bloody appearance, Sansa leaps into his arms and kisses him desperately until she notices the blood seeping through his jerkin. "My love, you are injured! Is it very bad? And who were the archers?"

"It's merely a scratch, lass, it'll wait a moment." Sandor mutters into the crown of her hair, tenderly stroking its length down her back. Much to his surprise he finds that he enjoys her affectionate ways, for it is the first time in his life anyone has touched him freely and with love.

"The archers are from the Riverlands clan. This is their forest," he finally answers, gently pulling away from her embrace. "Their names are Haden, Aeron, and Wain."

"Why did they not attack you?" Sansa asks, quickly divesting him of his vambraces and unbuckling his hauberk. "Forgive me, I cannot help you with this armor. It is too heavy for me to lift over you."

"I'll see to it. I've known those fellows since we were lads," Sandor hisses, pulling the armor over his head with difficulty. "My father would trade with the chief on occasion, and later when I squired for Amory Lorch, he would have me do business with them every time we passed through these parts."

"Do you have another tunic?"

"Aye, in my saddlebag."

"Good," Sansa says quietly, ripping the material in her haste to get to his wound. "It looks clean, no jagged edges and shallow. I believe your armor caught most of it. Come, let us get you into the hot springs."

"Fuck, Sansa, I just-"

"Do not argue with me," she presses her finger to his lips. "Get out of those breeches. Your clothes are ruined."

With an evil grin he takes her hand and kisses it. "Might be I won't need any for a while. Neither will you, for that matter." He heatedly glances down at Sansa's sheer shift, his mouth watering at the sight of her body in spite of the pain. The garment exposes the tops of her breasts and her perfect pink nipples stand taut against the thin fabric in the cool morning air.

Blushing, she frowns at him. "Only you would jest at such a time as this. Please, do as I say. I fear you will get an infection if this isn't cleaned right away. The sulfur in the hot springs is very healing."

Swallowing hard, he looks down to a perfect view of her breasts. "And what does a highborn lady such as you know of tending wounds, lass?" Sandor eyes her closely, amused the little bird is ordering him around like the proper highborn she is while her gown gapes open and exposes her body in a most unladylike manner.

"I used to help my maester with my brothers back home," she murmurs, bending down and taking his boot in hand. "Sit down so I can get this off, please."

"Hurry up now, damn it," he curses, struggling to take his mind off the growing tightness in his breeches.

After wrestling off his footwear, Sansa stands up with a smile. "There, you are ready for your bath. You can take off the rest when we get there."

Sandor's mouth falls open at her boldness, the man silently following her around the room. Sansa refuses to meet his gaze and instead focuses her attention on rifling through his saddlebags in search of clean clothing and soap. After gathering towels, bandages and another clean shift, Sansa gingerly leads him outside.

"Would you like some wine?"

"Hells, yes," he chuckles. "Haven't got any, though."

"I have a little but only enough to clean the wound," she sighs. "Where are the clansmen now, do you suppose?" Carefully Sansa scans the ridges for any signs of the men as they approach the hot springs.

"They're nowhere around here," he lies, scanning around for signs of the men. "They wouldn't dare stay so close to our lodgings. I paid them good coin to keep the area secure and stay out of sight. We're alone, love, if that's what's worrying you."

Shyly she smiles at him and allows her unlaced gown to slip off her shoulders. "Come, dearest, I will help you bathe." Holding his hand, she steps down into the water.

Meekly Sandor allows her to guide him toward the shallow end. "Truly? Don't fucking play with me, now," His dark eyes gleam at her words, the intensity of his gaze sending a heated flush through her body.

"Yes, truly. You need my help. Now you can take off your breeches," she reddens further before turning away. "I mean, if you wish it."

"Aye, you can't expect a man to bathe while wearing them." Snickering, Sandor revels in her embarrassment and he brazenly kicks off the garment and steps out into deeper water.

Averting her eyes, Sansa splashes nearby, trying to appear nonchalant while lathering the rag with soap.

"You can turn around now, lass. The water covers my cock so your maidenly innocence will remain intact," he barks out a harsh laugh. "Though for how long, I can't say. Come here and wash me, woman."

Slowly, Sansa makes her way toward him, blushing and keeping her eyes downcast. Reaching out to her, Sandor steadies her in the deeper water.

Gently she moves to his side. "Let me tend your wound first." Her soft fingers trace featherlight strokes over his skin near the injury. "I'll have to wash away the dried blood to get a better look."

Sandor draws closer still, thoroughly enjoying her maidenly blushes.

Timidly she delicately runs the cloth over his shoulders and chest, her brows knitting as she concentrates on the task at hand. When she approaches the wounded area below his ribs, she drapes the rag over her shoulder and lathers her hands, tenderly running them over each side of his body.

Her hands gently slide over his skin full of tenderness, and the man draws in a deep breath as he regards her careful ministrations. Since Gregor killed their family, he cannot remember a time when anyone touched him in such a manner. The experience awakens memories of his mother and sister after he was burned. Sandor struggles to swallow, a lump of emotion choking his speech while he submits to her delicate attentions.

"Now that the blood is washed away, I can see the cut is most shallow indeed," she beams up at him. "I will collect some of the sulfur water in your helm. If we bathe the wound several times a day and keep fresh bandages on it, you will heal up nicely."

Sandor quietly stares while her soft hands continue gliding over his skin. The little bird's shift clings alluringly to her breasts and hips while she works and it is all the man can do to keep from taking her in his arms then and there. Sensing his control is wavering, Sandor grits his teeth, at once aroused and somewhat guilty that his body reacts so strongly to her innocent touch.

Gazing down at her, Sandor gently stills her hands. "Enough, Little bird. Away with you now; I'll finish up here and then you can dress it. I'll help you with that blamed gown as well." His voice is even rougher than usual, but Sansa does not seem to notice.

She places the soap and rag in his hand, smiles brightly and nods. "Very well, love. I will go to the cabin and get a fire started for us. I believe snow is coming."

Snorting, he shakes his head. "Who ever heard of snow in the Riverlands?"

"You speak truly, but I smell it in the air. I'll get the fire going."

"And just how would you know how to start a fire?"

Laughing, she tweaks his chin. "I am from the north, after all, Sandor: I have watched my maid start a fire in my bedchamber every morning since I can remember and Father made sure we all learned so that we never need depend on another for warmth."

"If you say so, Little bird." Sandor leads her out of the pool, the man powerless to resist openly staring at her figure. The curve of her firm, rounded bottom becomes enticingly visible beneath the wet, transparent silk shift as she rises out of the water. "Watch yourself," he growls and she waves back before hurrying out of sight.

Once she is gone, Sandor closes his eyes, the man reliving the touch of her perfect and creamy young body. Taking himself in hand in a tight grip, he heatedly strokes himself to completion, finally releasing the built up tension being close to her has waged on his body. When his breathing returns to normal, he quickly finishes bathing and washes his hair. Fat snowflakes begin drifting down as he dries off, so instead of dressing at the water's edge, Sandor wraps the towel around his waist and heads back to Sansa.

"Look, dearest, the men left fish for us!" Sansa smiles, pointing to a large trout line on the table.

"After what I paid them, they'd better feed us breakfast." The man notices she has fashioned a changing area by draping a large blanket between the chair and mantle and fresh clothes are laid out on the bed for him. On the dressing table she has clean strips of cloth at the ready to tend the wound.

"Damned if you weren't right about the snow," he mutters, the man glancing over at the roaring fireplace. "Well, go on then; you might as well bandage this cut."

Reddening, she shyly wraps the long strips of material tightly around his midsection. Biting her lip, he notices her wincing as she securely ties the dressing.

"Are you still in pain?" He asks softly, slowly running his hand over her back.

"Yes, a bit, but it is much better now," Sansa answers, blinking away the tears pearling in her eyes.

Pulling her close to his chest, he whispers in her ear. "It won't always be this way, lass. I'll keep you safe."

"I know; I just cannot stand to see you hurt," the young woman sobs against his skin, burying her face in his chest.

"It's nothing to get worked up over Sansa," Sandor mutters, not ungently. "Come on, let's eat so we can rest for a bit. We leave for the Riverland camp at first light."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 Kissed By Fire**

Squabbling birds flit above the shady black ash trees, their cries echoing through the dense woodland. Stranger cautiously navigates through the thick brush, the dead leaves crunching quietly under the warhorse's hooves. A rustling noise alerts Sandor to the appearance of a stag with a full rack in the meadow, which raises its head and smells the newcomers passing through before darting deeper into the glen.

"The forest is alive, that's a good sign," Sandor rasps into the crown of Sansa's hair.

"It is, isn't it? The gods have blessed us with a lovely day for travel!" Sansa delightedly cries, pointing to a swarm of insects dancing in the golden beams of sunlight filtering toward the forest floor.

"Shh Little bird, remember what I said about being quiet," he growls hotly into her ear, rising goose bumps on the smooth skin of her throat and neck. Seeing her reaction to him gives Sandor a queer sense of smug satisfaction. Snorting, he shakes his head. "And that's not what I meant."

"Oh," Sansa's face falls, the young woman suddenly withdrawing at his jape. "Of course; you would never think such things. Forgive me."

_Dog, why do you always have to be such a bloody prick?_ _Can't you just keep your fucking mouth shut for once and let her have her say?_ Sandor curses silently before adding, "Aye the weather is good, lass, it's true but I was reading the forest. When animals and birds are present, it's a good sign."

"I never went out with my father and brothers like Arya did, so I never learned about the animals and weather signs. I would very much like to learn if you will teach me. Why is that good, exactly?"

"It means no one has traveled through here recently." Unable to resist, Sandor places a gentle kiss below her ear. Shivering, Sansa leans against him with a soft sigh, her eager response instantly arousing the man.

_She is so bloody alluring, I'll forget myself if I'm not careful_. Sandor straightens up in the saddle and clears his throat, trying not to focus on the way her bottom rubs against him with the horse's gait. "If we stay quiet, the animals will go undisturbed and if anyone comes along after us, they won't suspect we've been through here- so no more talking, Sansa." She nods and snuggles back against him, resting her arms over his and closes her eyes, seemingly oblivious to the effect she is having on him.

"It won't be long now before we reach the village and with any luck there will be a small cabin waiting for us." Adjusting his position in the saddle, he tries to avoid thinking of the way she looked that morning, her sheer lavender shift revealing her body, her lovely red hair spread over them as she slumbered peacefully in his arms.

"Sandor?" Her drowsy voice murmurs softly, pulling him out of his reverie.

"Hmm?"

Sansa kisses his hand and places it at her waist once more. "Thank you."

"Always so courteous," he chuckles, tucking her hair behind her ear. "What, pray tell, are you thanking me for now?"

Sansa turns in the saddle and brushes his hair away from his face, mirroring his gesture. "For taking me with you and protecting me from those men." Her hand traces over his neck and cups his cheek. With her thumb she tenderly strokes the crevices of his scarred side. "For always keeping your promises to me. You are the only one, Sandor, who has done so since-"

"I failed you many a time, Sansa, and I'll not do it again." Sandor swallows hard, knowing what will come next from her. He gently pulls rein on Stranger and settles her body so she will face him, resting his hands lightly around her small waist.

Sansa's eyes glisten with tears but she does not turn away from him. "I love you, Sandor with all my heart. I need to tell you that I am grateful for all you have done. You could not help what Joffrey did." She lightly grazes her nails over the back of his neck and draws his face to hers. "I could have lost you then, just as I could have lost you yesterday to those deserters."

The sorrow in her voice cuts a corresponding fissure through Sandor's heart so that the man pulls her down towards him while encircling his arms around her body. "I'm not so easy to kill," he mutters low, brushing the single tear away from her cheek. The healthful flush has returned to her porcelain skin and her deep Tully blue eyes sparkle as she gazes at him. Sandor knows he could spend a lifetime just staring into those eyes, and if the gods are good, he intends to do just that.

"Ever since that day in Winterfell, I have prayed every day to the gods for your safety, my love," Sansa's eyes shine with love for him. "I know they keep you safe, that you are not easy to kill." Trust and faith in his words echo in her sweet voice, swelling his heart with love for her in return, breaking down the barriers he has so carefully built around him through the years since his parents and sister died. "You have been so good to me. You are everything my Father said and more."

He is not a good man, Sandor knows, but the look of utter trust in Sansa's beautiful blue eyes silences the side of him that instinctively wants to mock her, growl his insults and prove to her that he is not the man the little bird believes she knows so well.

Through the years, Sandor has done many things that would shock the little bird, should she ever learn of them, and yet part of him longs to be the man she sees when she looks at him now. Her sweet nature and goodness makes him eager to earn the love and trust Sansa gives him unreservedly without expectation or demands. Sandor finds that the more time he spends with her, the more he aspires to be the man that Sansa Stark deserves and show that his love for her in both word and deed.

Sandor lightly brushes his mouth against her soft cheek before tenderly capturing her lips with his own. His hand tangles in her thick hair and briefly the thought passes through his mind that Sansa is indeed kissed by fire, that she alone is the only fire that has not burned him. Silently Sandor chides himself for his sentimentality. He pulls away and stares into her eyes while running his fingers through her long flaming locks, lost in thought.

When he was a squire, the Lannister master metallurgist at Casterly Rock overheard the soldiers taunting his fear of the fire in the smithy. "Come work with me, young Sandor. I have many bars of gold that need smelting and it takes a strong back to lift them all."

As a squire, he was not in a position to turn the man down and Sandor certainly did not want to be there any longer than necessary and so reluctantly he agreed and set to work.

Before they began, the old man sat him down. "Young Clegane, you may be surprised to learn that fire has the ability to do more than destroy."

Sandor had been doubtful of that but remained silent out of respect for the man's prestigious position of service to Lord Tywin. "Oh?"

"Fire alone has the ability to refines precious metals, such as the gold here at the Rock. Fire lifts the impurities from deep within the metal and makes it possible for me to skim the undesirable parts off the top until only the pure product remains. Such is true of many things fire touches, lad. Have you ever observed how the forest thrives after a fire?"

He had often observed this in the forest surrounding Clegane Keep during his boyhood explorations. "Yes, Ser, I have."

At the time, Sandor thought the man was merely sharing interesting facts to distract him from the fire raging in the forge. After he became an adult, he realized the metallurgist was speaking about him; that, in effect, the experience of being burned would serve to refine him into a more evolved man than the foolish soldiers who mocked him.

Over the years, on the rare occasion Sandor allowed himself to look into the mirror, he cursed and scoffed at the memory of the old man as he looked at his scarred countenance. How could fire do anything but cause immeasurable suffering? As Sandor watches the sunlight playing through Sansa's fiery strands, however, he allows himself to wonder if the metallurgist had second sight, as his mother did.

_Was the old fool right all along? Perhaps it is Sansa who is the fire of refinement of which he spoke, and it is her love that I have needed all along to change and to become a better man. _Sandor ponders this thought as he carefully twists the ringlets through its length.

Sansa curiously smiles at him, allowing his tender ministrations without looking away from his eyes. "You look very serious. Tell me what you are thinking, my love."

Sansa's love has indeed made him a better man. She has made him long to be worthy of her and given him a reason to change. It is her alone who made him take the chance to escape King's Landing and begin anew. No one has ever induced such a profound change in him, excepting Gregor, and the more Sandor thinks on it, the more confidence he has in the idea.

Fear has plagued his interactions with women his entire life but the man is determined never to allow fear to hold him back. Sandor is determined he will show Sansa the depth of his love for her. Instead of answering her query, he gently takes hold of the back of Sansa's head and once more parts his lips against hers. Sansa slowly opens her mouth and allows him to slip his tongue past her lips while moaning softly in response.

The intimacy of the moment overwhelms the man, and suddenly Sandor breaks away and presses his forehead to hers, breathing deeply. "I love you," Sandor says, all hesitancy forgotten. "I will never leave you, little bird. You need never be afraid with me." The words came unbidden and speaking his feelings for her aloud feels as natural as breathing.

"As I love you, dearest," she whispers against his lips.

Stroking her cheek with his fingers, Sandor leans forward again to kiss her and then points to the ridge in the distance. "We'll have plenty of time for this later, little bird. On the other side lies the village so let's make tracks; what say you?"

"Oh yes, I am ready," she beams up at him, lifting his hand and tenderly rubbing her cheek against it.

* * *

By late afternoon, Sandor spots the smoke from the village ascending in the sky. The distinct cawing call of the Riverland tribesmen announcing their approach tells him they have entered the outer perimeter of the village. Grinning, he leans down and whispers, "Wake up, little bird. We just passed the outlying boundary of the village. Hear the cawing?"

"Yes, I hear it. I am glad we are here. I am very ready to get down." Yawning, she stretches her arms over her head before encircling his neck and kissing his beard. A lump rises in Sandor's throat at the sight of her arching her back against him and quickly he averts his eyes. "Are you now?"

"Oh, I am most sore," she giggles. "Did I ever tell you that my brother Bran used to dream of crows after he was injured?"

Sandor shook his head. "No, I heard from Jaime that he dreamt he was a wolf."

"Not quite. Bran dreamt he could see through Summer's eyes-that is his direwolf. I wonder if his crow dreams were a premonition of my coming here."

Before Sandor can reply, the welcome party rides up to greet them. "We've been waiting on you, Hound," a grizzled clansmen on an enormous grey courser calls out with a laugh. "This must be your woman," he nods to Sansa.

"How do you do? I am Sansa-"

"Clegane-this is Sansa Clegane, my wife," Sandor interrupts, pinching her waist lightly. "This is the chief."

Taking his cue, Sansa smiles brilliantly at the man and nods eagerly. "It is very good to meet you."

Raising his eyebrow, the burly old man huffs in disbelief. "So the Hound took a wife, eh? Never thought I'd see the day the dog kept to one female, and a lady at that," he chuckles with a wink. Turning to Sansa, he regards her for a moment, a wide grin spreading across his weathered face. "I do fine, young lady. You've the look of a highborn-a Tully, to be exact."

"Why, thank you," she smiles. Sandor sees the mask of courtesy from King's Landing return to her in an instant. "I do have some distant Tully relations. It is very kind of you to notice."

"I knowed it when I first laid eyes on you!" The man crows, clearly pleased with himself. "There's been plenty of Tullys roaming my land over the years, though none as fetching as you. I can spot one of your kin anywhere. Kissed by fire that clan, one and all of 'em."

"Yes, indeed, it is true. Red hair runs in the family."

Extending his hand, the man approvingly nods at her. "Sansa Clegane, I'm Chief Tierney of the Riverland tribe. This here to my left is Braden, and them there are Haden, Aeron and Wain."

"Oh, you must be the men that came to our aid yesterday. Thank you for your help, and for the fish. They were delicious."

Grinning, the three men glance between themselves and then at Sandor, sobering up when they see him menacingly glowering their direction. "Where can we shelter, Chief?"

"Hound, we got a little cabin along the crick you can have use of. Old Seamus passed three moons back and nobody's claimed his place since."

Sandor clicks his tongue against his teeth. "That's a damned shame. He was a smart old sod."

"Aye that he was," Tierney agrees, turning his horse toward the village.

"What got him?"

"Age. The man was damned near his ninetieth nameday," Tierney sighs. "I knowed him since I was a lad. Well, you know the way. Your woman looks plenty tired, so I'll leave you to it, then. We can have our talk on the morrow. I'll send our healer Erik over to look at your side."

"Many thanks," Sandor grunts, moving Stranger beside the chief's mount.

Bowing his head toward Sansa, Tierney adds, "Sansa, you are welcome to anything in the village. You two can stay as long as you like. You're safe with us, lass. No bloody soldiers will be bother'n you here, mark my words."

"Thank you," Sansa smiles in return and then glances up at Sandor. "That is most kind of you."

As the couple enters the village, several men raise their hands and call out greetings to Sandor. Tensing up, he grits his teeth and waves in return, slowing Stranger to a canter. "I'd hoped not to draw so much attention to us here."

"They would have known of our arrival soon enough, Sandor. You said you have known these people since boyhood; it is only natural they are eager to greet you and meet your wife," Sansa giggled softly. "We had better start acting as though we are wed."

"Seven hells," he swears under his breath, yanking her closer to him in the saddle. "Won't be very difficult, that."

A large river and its tributaries surround the area, providing a natural protection for the tribe. After crossing the last waterway, they enter the Riverland village. The smell of roasted meat greets the couple. Tiny log and hickory dwellings are spread out in a circular pattern around the center of the village. Horses, pigs and chickens wander the area freely.

"It is so very different than castle life! Look Sandor! What is that?" Sansa delightedly points to a large animal roasting on a spit turned by two young men.

"It's wild boar, lass. Your kin never prepared one when you visited?"

"No, my love, I have never been to Riverrun. The only Tully relation I ever met aside from my Aunt Lysa was Great Uncle Brendan. He came to Winterfell just prior to King Robert."

"The one they call the Blackfish?" He asks, eager to steer the conversation away from her aunt.

"Yes, that is him. He is so funny, Sandor, I believe you would get along well with him. He played hide and seek with us in the castle. Each night he told us scary stories of shadow cats and haints in the forests of the Riverlands. We loved them but they gave us nightmares for weeks after. Mother was most displeased."

Remembering Sansa's stern mother, Sandor has no difficulty believing that. "Haints? I never heard that word."

"It's a northern country term for haunt. We use it to refer to the shade of a dead person."

"Well, I doubt the Blackfish likes me much, little bird, for all your fondness of the man," Sandor shifts uncomfortably in the saddle. He knows the Tullys despise him and his brother, and Sandor killed many of the Tully bannermen over the years. Still, if Sansa longs to see her uncle, he will take her there. "You want to go to him? I'll take you to Riverrun, if you like."

"No, I do not wish it," Sansa says softly. "I wish to stay hidden with you, Sandor. When we left King's Landing I considered making for Riverrun. I must admit my uncle may not like you, for he spoke of Gregor in the harshest of terms. In truth, I am not certain how he would react to meeting you or learning that Father entrusted my care to you. It is better that we stay here. I do not want any trouble."

Sandor lets out a breath he did not realize he was holding as he pulls rein on Stranger at a small hickory log cabin. "Well, here it is, lass. It may not look like much but it's home for now."

"Thank the gods! I am so sore I can hardly stand another minute on Stranger, though I must say his gait is most pleasing."

Carefully Sandor sets her on the ground. "Stay here, I want to check the place out first." Drawing his sword, he warily looks over the area before opening the door. The interior is sparsely decorated and dusty but otherwise comfortable enough. "It's safe, little bird. Come on inside."

In the center of the room stands a hickory bed with a mattress piled high with furs. A small table and chairs sit next to the door, and beside the bed there is a changing screen, washbasin and eagerly wanders about the small one room dwelling, picking up objects and smiling to herself. Sandor watches her warily as she slowly runs her fingers over the mantle of the river rock fireplace, silently worrying the highborn lady within her will object to the spartan surroundings.

Sandor's mouth curls into a smile when she gingerly sits down on the mattress, knitting her brows. "What is the bed made out of, dearest? I have never seen such."

Pressing down on it several times, Sandor sinks down beside her. "It's cotton material stuffed with straw and corn husks. Not what you're used to but better than the hard floor."

"Anywhere I sleep with you is fine, my love," Sansa kisses him lightly, blissfully unaware of the lascivious thoughts her careless phrasing brings into his mind. "Let us find something to eat."

"The village eats together," Sandor shrugs, moving away from her lest temptation get the better of him. "We can join them if you like."

"But we have nothing to share," Sansa worries her lip with a concerned frown. "Oh, wait," she smiles and pulls the necklace Joffrey gave her over her head. "I have an idea. We can pay them with this."

Setting his jaw, he turns to face her. "Lass, that's solid Lannister gold. Are you certain?"

"Yes, we have no idea how long we will stay here or how many meals we will eat," Sansa insists. "It is all I have to offer."

"Bloody hells, I can hunt, little bird, to pay for our stay if need be," he sputters, annoyed that she believes he does not have the means to care for their needs. "Besides, I have plenty of coin to keep us comfortable for many years yet. You don't need to give away your jewelry."

"Truly?" Sansa asks, puzzled. "I did not mean to cause offense."

"Just say what's on your mind, Sansa," he growls a bit roughly.

"In truth, I did not think you had much coin, Sandor, and so I brought along my jewels to help ease our way."

"I've served the Lannisters and Baratheons since my twelfth nameday, Sansa. I have won many tourneys and games of chance over the years. With no woman to spend it on," Sandor grins at her, "I am half way to being Lord Eddard himself."

"I must say I am very surprised, my love," she blinks at him. "But if you have no objection, I would give it to the people here. I meant to throw it in the river anyway," Sansa wrinkles her nose in disgust at the necklace. "There is no reason they cannot gain the value of it. After all, it is pure gold and the smith could melt it down, I am sure. It could provide for all the needs of the village. It is the least we can do for their generosity."

"You are as generous as you are beautiful, lass," Sandor shakes his head in amazement. "We'll give it to them as soon as we finish our evening meal."


	6. Chapter 6

Hi everyone,

I just wanted to keep you updated about my stories. I've been pretty sick and ended up in the hospital over the weekend and so I haven't been writing lately. I don't expect to update my fics until the middle of next week, sorry about that :(

3 Littlefeather


	7. Chapter 7

Well I'm back :) Not sure I'm happy with this but here it is. Thanks to everyone for your continued support. *hugs*

* * *

**Chapter 6 Until Autumn**

* * *

At the opening of the evening meal, the men and women of the Riverland tribe settle into easy conversation with the newcomers. Stifling a smirk, Sandor warily studies the clanspeople as they eagerly make their introductions and waves away any he deems too curious for their own good.

Much to his disgust, many of the young men have already discovered Sansa's beauty and flutter around his little bird like moths to a flame. Curling himself beside her, Sandor drapes his arm over her delicate shoulder, looking very much like a snarling dog guarding his most prized possession.

Her beautiful face piqued with curiosity, Sansa squeezes his bicep excitedly as she drinks in her new surroundings, pointing out new objects of interest to him in wonder. Never one to shy away from the unknown, she eagerly tastes each of the delicacies offered with a smile and genuine praise. She has always been a fascinating blend of woman and child; it is what first drew him to her, and though the familiarity of the clan grates on his nerves, Sandor allows their harmless attentions and settles in with his tankard of honeyed ale for the duration.

"Not at all like the grand meals at the Red Keep, eh, little bird?" Sandor snorts, sullenly observing the ease with which the little bird charms the villagers, readily sharing her provisions and laughing at the chief's bawdy jokes even as her cheeks flush a charming shade of pink.

"No," Sansa murmurs, her lip quivering softly, a far-away look suddenly clouding her eyes. "Nothing like, and for that I am most grateful. " Almost as an afterthought she adds, "Did you know there were to be seventy seven dishes at the wedding feast?"

A sharp twitch seizes the burned side of his face. Draining his tankard, he studies her for a moment. After setting his cup on the table, Sandor gently lifts her onto his lap, causing Sansa to let out a small squeak of surprise.

"I hope the queen ordered plenty of cowshit, then," he rasps into her neck, his burned mouth curling into a tight snarl. Snaking his hand around her midsection, he pulls her back flush against his chest. "Those peasants gave Joff got quite a taste of it the day of the riots."

Glancing sideways at him, a devilish smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, and it amuses him to know end to watch the urge to laugh battle the young woman's innate sense of modesty. "They did, didn't they?" Sansa whispers scandalously, her eyes twinkling in fun.

"Aye," Sandor laughs sharply, amused to witness the proper lady look as though she sorely regretted not throwing a cowpie at the king. "Ate his fair share of it. Shreiked like a banshee, the king did, wanting me to kill them all. Starving sods, they had me thirty to one, and not a man of them dared face me."

"No one could withstand you," she leans against his chest.

Barking out a laugh, he gruffly nods, deciding he will not tease her choice of words. "No, little bird, no one could withstand me."

After casting a suggestive look at his scoured plate, she playfully nudges his boot with her small foot. "It looks as though_ you _miss those fine meals in King's Landing, too. It seems it takes a lot of food to keep one such as you satisfied."

"True enough, that," he pats his stomach. "Found my appetite, finally. I know how to live in want and in plenty, little bird, believe that."

"I am glad of it, Sandor, though I deeply regret the manner in which you learned," Sansa sadly answers, brushing his hair away from his eyes. "I hope you will teach me."

"Aye, I'll do that. You'll not want for anything with me, though," Sandor brushes his lips against her neck, bringing a deep blush to her cheeks. Sansa leans against him further, giggling softly. Despite the open stares of the clanspeople, Sansa neither chides his open demonstration nor moves away from him. Emboldened, she tilts her head up, giving him more access to her slender neck and delighting him with her newfound daring.

Sandor secretly thrills that Sansa not only accepts but encourages his advances and he takes full advantage of the situation by wrapping her close to his body and kissing her neck. Before Sansa, no woman wanted anything more from him than his coin. Bloody hells, aside from one young beautiful and well trained whore Robert sent him as a reward, not one even so much as kissed him. It is a weighty, heavy sensation to be wanted, and the man both fears and longs for more of this beautiful, loving creature nestling contentedly in his arms.

Apprehension pricks his heart, the pleasures of her affection disrupted by a sudden blackness settling over him. Sandor cannot put aside the suspicion their relationship is a two edged sword, a mere fabrication of the buggering gods meant to deliver Sansa from the Lannisters while simultaneously punishing him for his vast sins. _Kill two birds with one Stark, bloody hells._

Several onlookers shout jeers but Sandor only need raise his eyes to silence them. _Let them look. Let them see she is my woman, that this pretty thing wants me, the fucking Hound._ Reluctantly he opens his eyes and stares down at Sansa, recalling the promise he made to her father. _If only we could remain as we are now the rest of our days. Mere folly; this bloody ale has me sentimental fuck._ Sandor has not told Sansa that the hellish nightmare of their first night has returned several times, shaking him to the core. Never one to believe in the gods, the singular frequency and intensity of each recurrence leads Sandor to wonder if it is no mere bad dream. _Mayhap Lord Eddard is reaching out from wherever he ended up once Ser Ilyn relieved him of his head._

Ignoring the clanspeople's jesting, he sighs to dispel his thoughts and rasps into the tender flesh of her nape, "Bugger the food, lass. I preferred your family's ways to the Baratheons and Lannisters. The feast at Winterfell is one of the few I've attended where I didn't damn near slash some arrogant bastard's throat."

"High praise coming from you!" Sansa laughs against his cheek. "You would have made a fine Dothraki horse lord."

"Think that's funny, do you?" He mock frowns, tweaking her chin. "You best be glad I'm not." Sandor recalls the whispered rumors of the young Targaryen girl's marriage to one such lord and the man cannot help but think Sansa's fate with Joffrey would have ended far worse than hers had they stayed in King's Landing.

Sansa does not seem to notice the change in his mood and surprises him by kissing his cheek tenderly in front of everyone. "Indeed I am, for then you would not be Sandor, and I would not love you so." Arousal and embarrassment color her damask cheeks and impart a tender regard to her normally icy blue eyes.

Shivering, Sandor shoves away his darker thoughts and pulls her closer still, his eyes slowly drifting closed until Sansa's sudden departure from his arms rouses him. "Husband, I am most tired; let us retire for the night."

Holding her hand out to him with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes, Sansa's shy smile beckons him. _Clever little bird, chirping the song I taught her, and so sweetly at that. _Slowly he rises and accepts her hand, looping it through the crook of his arm. _Back to the cabin, and alone with her once more. Seven buggering hells…_

Sensing his uneasiness, a nervous giggle escapes Sansa's lips when he holds open the door for her. "Well this is home, at least for a while," he offers awkwardly.

"The truest home I have had since leaving Winterfell," Sansa sighs softly, moving about the small dwelling with the same grace she carried through the Red Keep. "You have given me far more than you know."

_And you have done the same, lass._ The words stick in his throat, and all he can do is stand in awe of her, mesmerized by the sight of the roaring fire setting her copper tendrils aflame. Silently she motions for him to sit beside her on the pallet. "What is it, Sandor?"

Sandor spent the better part of his youth convincing himself he no longer needed or expected anything from life. The delusion was a source of perverse pride, and so he lived his life as though each day were the last, all the while cursing and denying the gods by turns.

Then came the little bird. If he dared, Sandor would name the feeling she has given him hope, the very hope he discarded in the ashes of Gregor's fire. She willingly entrusted him with her beautiful heart, and any man would be a fool to take such a precious offering for granted. At once, Sandor makes up his mind that he will wed her the first opportunity that arises, and bugger the gods and men of the consequences.

"Come here, Sansa," he shivers once more and moves her closer to him, bending to nuzzle her neck and running his large hands through the length of her hair.

"Are you cold, my love?" Sansa frowns and places a fur around his shoulders before settling herself on his lap. "I hope you have not caught chill."

"No, lass," he sighs into her hair, a quiet contentment warming him from within_. I am not a good man but I beg you Lord Eddard, let me have her love, if only for a little while. Let me have her love and I swear on every one of your gods I will go to my grave keeping her safe. _ "I need you to hear me out."

"Alright," she quietly assents, taking his hand in her own.

"I was wrong back there," he coughs, desperate to clear the bitter ire welling in his throat. "In King's Landing. I ought not to have treated you the way I did. You were but a wee lass and I a buggering bastard for drunkenly spouting my foolishness whenever it suited me, scaring you, mocking you. I would ask your forgiveness, little bird."

"But you were hurting, too, just as I was, and-"

"No," he firmly shakes his head. "No, Sansa. That's no excuse, damn it."

Sansa shakes her head and pulls away slightly to look into his eyes. "I did not mean to excuse you, Sandor. I only wished to say that I often regret my past behavior as well."

"There is room for both our regrets," he weakly agrees. "But you were a child, and it was wrong to do you that way. I'll prove to you that I left that man to die the night of the Blackwater. Let us begin again, now," Sandor stares into her eyes. "Swear it."

Pulling him close, she quietly answers against his chest, her breath warming his skin through his tunic. "Thank you, Sandor. We will begin again starting now and work to leave the past behind as best we can. I swear it on the old gods and the new."

He turns her face up to him and lightly follows the curve of her cheek with his thumb. "I offered you my troth when I was drunk, Sansa. But that does not change that I wish us wed as soon as we find a heart tree or a septon."

"Yes," she smiles against his lips. "I wish it, too."

Sandor dreads his next question and yet he cannot leave it unsaid. "You are not my captive, Sansa, and I won't have you chirping anymore. I want you to tell me truly: what it is you wish to do about your family and Winterfell? Tell me and it will be so, believe that."

She snuggles deep into his chest. "I wish to stay here for now."

"Fairly obvious, that," he growls, regarding her closely. "And then?"

He feels her draw a deep breath. "And then I would go see my aunt in the Vale."

Sandor knows he cannot just keep Sansa in the Riverlander's camp for the duration of the war but neither does he want to face her halfwit of an aunt in the bloody Eyrie, of all places.

"The whole of the Seven kingdoms are crawling with drifters, sellswords and worse, Sansa. Gregor and his men are bound to be afoot and I sure as hells have no intention of crossing their paths if I can help it."

Sighing, she nods against him. "I know, Sandor, but I feel driven to go to her. I cannot explain it."

"The Vale?" After a moment he reluctantly agrees. "Then to the Eyrie we'll go."

"Thank you, I know it is a difficult journey. Perhaps waiting until autumn is the best course," Sansa quietly adds, snuggling against him.

Autumn is but two moons away but it will give him plenty of time to prepare for the journey. If the weather holds, the road into the Vale would likely be cleared of all but the most dilligent soldiers and sellwords. "Have it your way, little bird," Sandor finally rasps into her hair.


End file.
